


you were never a graveyard

by mayfieldmayhem



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Depersonalization, Disabled Character, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Will's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:26:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10450920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfieldmayhem/pseuds/mayfieldmayhem
Summary: Will has a bad day. Mike and Eleven help out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for semi-descriptive mentions of self-harm and detailed descriptions of panic attacks.   
> wrt the "disabled character" tag, eleven suffers from chronic joint pain as a result of spending a year in the upside down.  
> please tread carefully!!

Even though you won’t ever admit it out loud, you are far from okay.

You don’t talk about the weeks spent throwing up alien slugs. You smile when they ask you - you make it hard to notice, to see through - and you wave off concern, shake your head and tell everyone you’re fine in confidence. Even though you have to sleep with the lamp on now, even though sometimes you swear the world is dying and you’re left in the midst of every terrible thing. If you don’t talk about it, you can almost pretend that nothing ever happened.

But you can’t forget the look in your mother’s eyes. You can’t forget about Jonathan, teary-eyed and bandaged and so so happy, you can’t forget about Hopper thumping the life back into your chest, you can’t forget about a strange girl with wide eyes and shaved hair that told you to hold on.

You can see it in Mike’s eyes, the toll the week has taken. He spends the spaces in-between words during narrating arcs staring at a disheveled blanket fort he says belongs to Her. When he falls asleep in there, he doesn’t rest, sometimes screaming, crying out for a girl that you know and don’t know all at once.

You come back different. The world is different. Your life is different. Nothing will ever be the same, you know that well, and you can only hope that you can handle it, even though everything’s been ripped out from under you, even though the nightmares sometimes happen when you’re awake. You pretend not to flinch at sudden loud noises, try desperately to silence the throaty not-quite laugh of that Thing in your ears, try to ignore the spores floating through the air, ignore when the death sits in your chest and crawls through your throat. You don’t tell anyone about the lightning, how She reaches out for you, how you swear you hear Her voice even in the silence after the storm.

You don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about being anything other than fine. You don’t talk about for all the days you’re thankful to be alive, sometimes you feel like you died in there.

//

_There is nothing comforting about Castle Byers in this place. The blankets are old and moldy and you cough when you breathe in, lungs burning and head spinning as you wait, laying and preparing for death._

_She is there with you suddenly. When She takes your hand there’s the cold feeling of nothing. She tells you that your mother is coming for you, that you just need to hold on until she gets there. Even though you want to close your eyes you feel scared to, and She looks at you like she understands. You feel like no one could better understand you in this moment. Then She is gone and the walls come down, the Thing is laughing like it’s mocking you, and you know that this has to be the end, this is where you die. You think of your friends. You think of your mom. You think of your brother. You think of everything and nothing when you close your eyes._

//

When you wake up on November 6th, there is the most violent kind of panic swirling in your chest.

You scream as loud as you can into your pillow. You scream until your throat is raw. You don’t sit up until you think you can manage it without shrieking. Your guts feel like they’re shaking inside you. You sink your teeth hard into the inside of your wrist, eyes squeezed shut in a subtle kind of terror.

Your fingertips itch. You know what they want.

You bite your lip.

You slam a fist into your thigh. It’s not like you could bruise it. The pain only offers a brief respite. It doesn’t last long enough like what you want, but you’re trying to be brave, so you’re trying to ignore that annoyance in your belly. Your breath hitches and comes out too fast, and you clench your hands into fists, shoving down the urge to claw your nails down the sides of your face.

You exhale hard, telling yourself not to slam your head against the wall no matter how much you want to.

You feel too exposed. Every sound is too loud. Every feeling is pinpricks all over your body. You want to sleep. You want to sleep for a thousand years and then some. When you bury your face in the pillow, the nausea comes rolling in, and with your arms around your stomach, you grit your teeth and curse the heavens.

You know that logically you shouldn’t be alone right now, and that it’s very likely you’ll hurt yourself, but the burning in your chest tells you to keep quiet.

“Will, do you copy,” the walkie-talkie crackles to life, and you gasp so hard you end up coughing.

You beg yourself to get it under control.

You realize your lip is bleeding. There’s a small drop of blood on your tongue and the scent of it makes you sick.

You don’t reply to Mike.

To your relief (and subtle terror), it’s Eleven that walks through your bedroom door with a glass of water and a handful of your meds. She sees your wild eyes and sleep-mussed hair, and she pads across the carpet with learned gentleness and pace. You make the lamp light flicker when the bed dips with her weight: one two one two, swirling heat under your skin. She doesn’t touch you but you think she says your name. When the feeling behind your eyes softens, the light dims and then returns to normal, and something wet rests on your upper lip. You twist the sheet between your fingers as El frowns, setting the glass and pills on your bedside table and taking one of your hands slowly and asking for approval with her eyes, and she presses it over her heart so you can feel it. The steady rhythm comforts you slightly, and she holds your hand in hers as she hands you your meds. Her eyes are soft and unaccusing. She is silent in her understanding, but you know she gets you.

After you choke down the pills in one gulp, she takes a tissue to your nose and wipes away the blood. She asks but more like tells you, “Stay home with me and Mike?”

Your stomach drops.

How will you do this? You feel like such a mess and it’s only 6:00 in the morning, but how will you manage a whole _day_ around both of them like this? How can you handle it?

El squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back, that silent dread bubbling up in your throat, and you can’t - 

“You should stay here,” El says, her voice cutting through the thick fog and pulling you from your head. She traces patterns in your hair from the swirl at the top of your head to the nape of your neck with a certain kind of softness.

You know she’s offering her side as a resting place. You’re trying to fight your desire to fold into her; you don’t want to see the pity in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, and suddenly you know you wouldn’t see pity anyways. “Didn’t sleep good either. Had nightmares about the bad place. Been awake for awhile; can’t fall asleep alone.”

Hesitantly, unsure if you should ask, you rasp out: “Are you doing okay?”

She only nods her head. You can tell just by looking at her that she’s exhausted, as if personifying the way you feel. Her eyes are concerned but filled with a tiredness that never quite goes away, and you feel bad for even making her worry.

Again you feel the terrible need to hurt yourself, have the overwhelming desire to see your own blood. “That’s going to bruise,” El says quietly, and only then do you notice that you’re pinching your arm so hard that the skin is turning an artful shade of light purple, and El’s careful fingers slowly manage to coax your grip to soften.

Your head snaps around when you hear the front door open, your heart thundering and your eyes wide. 

El sees the panic before you say anything. Your breaths come rough and ragged. She pulls you into her arms, pressing her hands gingerly over your ears, trying her best to at least mute any other sudden noises, and she whispers to you as you shudder in her embrace, and as you turn your eyes up to the doorway, you see the distressed face of Mike Wheeler, and you exhale, chest jolting as the tension slowly leaks out of you.

You only whimper.

He sits beside you on the bed. You’re effectively settled safely between Eleven and Mike. El slowly soothes your body back down into the mattress, brushing a hand through your hair as you nestle into the pillow. Mike shakes his coat off and curls up on your other side, pulling you slowly into his chest, your current need for closeness letting you burrow into the warmth offered, and _useless boy useless useless you should be braver pathetic look at you,_ and the warm sleepy tears sting your eyes, wet salt sliding over the bridge of your nose, quiet sobs being punched out of your chest, throat aching like fire is scorching your insides, legs tangled with Mike’s, Eleven murmuring loving reassurances into your ear and you’re so _tired -_

You break.

You start your morning by falling to pieces between your two favorite people. You feel so guilty for breaking down. You should be able to handle these things by now. You shouldn’t have to take time from your friends and family because you’re like this. You don’t deserve it, why can’t you be stronger, why - 

And then Mike’s thumbs gently brush the tears off your cheeks, his chin resting on the top of your head.   
Mike is all long legs and sharp edges. You fit into his spaces almost perfectly. El makes it all come together; makes it complete. You want to melt into this moment because you think you’d never be sad again.

“You can sleep now,” Mike tells you, pressing his nose into your hair. Under any other circumstance the heat would be stifling, but right now you really appreciate it, as you think it’s probably the only thing grounding you, and your eyes get heavy after a few moments.

With the two of them surrounding you, you manage to drift back into sleep. 

//

_You’re beating on the wall, sobbing to you mother, so close but so far, just out of your physical reach. The tears cut tracks through the grime on your face, and your mother screams back to you, pressing her hands on the wall where your face would be, and it’s here it’s here it’s here it’s here and she’s telling you to run and oh God it’s closing up, she tells you she loves you and that you need to run and then the portal is closed and you can’t see her anymore._

_Your lungs burn and you run and run and run and run but nowhere’s ever safe enough and you can’t rest and you only want to go home why can’t you go home?_

_Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t make a sound._

_It isn’t over yet._

_RUN. RUN. RUN._

//

When you wake up with a scream tearing out of your throat, your initial response is to twist and fight out of whoever’s arms your in. You’re trembling, and you just can’t wrench yourself away, and - 

The fight drains out of you when you belatedly realize it’s Mike.

You exhale hard and shakily, burying your face into his chest.

Eleven’s still beside you as well. You can feel her comfortably pressed against your back. You inhale ragged breaths through the aftershocks. You feel warm arms wrapped around your waist, gentle hands running through your hair. They both tell you that you’re okay.

You let the tears come. You don’t even open your eyes.

You feel a bone-deep type of tired despite having just woken up. Your stomach aches so badly that normally you’d be worried something’s wrong, but...your anxiety tends to manifest in pain. The headache is starting to manifest in that unreachable center in your brain too. If you don’t take something for it, you know how easily it’ll turn into a migraine. 

You sit up and grunt as the sharp pains in the back of your head run their course. Mike sits up with you and so does El, each of them holding one of your hands, fingers warm and very real in yours. Even though it’s difficult for you to speak right now, you appreciate what they’re doing more than anything. You don’t think you could handle staying home alone today, and even though you’re pretty sure Mike’s skipping school you’re thankful. You look at El and press two fingers to your forehead. This is your own personal version of sign language between the two of you.

She nods and very carefully gets up from the bed and ventures into the kitchen. You know she’s getting you tylenol, and you’ll probably be tired enough for a nap later, but you’re more concerned with stopping your headache before it gets worse.

She comes back with a glass of apple juice, and two of those nasty-tasting blue pills in her hand. You take it from her gratefully, dipping your head in thanks before quickly downing the Tylenol and the glass of apple juice. 

You blink sleepily and sigh, leaning into El’s shoulder.

She starts playing with the hair at the nape of your neck, swirling it around her finger and causing you to giggle weakly. Her soft and careful touch tickles, and you can see Mike’s fond grin from where you are. You tap the palm of her hand but she doesn’t stop.

“Jonathan made breakfast,” El announces.

Your stomach growls in response. Your cheeks burn a little in embarrassment, but it just makes El grin as she disappears into the kitchen yet again, and you’re left with Mike while she gets what you assume is waffles.

“You doing okay?” Mike asks gently. “Any better than earlier?”

You try to speak but your voice comes out too soft, so you cough a few times.

“Well, I’m not dead,” you tell him, and he frowns but he nods, nuzzling you playfully for a moment.

“That’s better than, you know, being dead,” he confirms, letting out a soft chuckle. “Luckily today is Will Day, so you’re gonna receive the best treatment we can give.”

You smile. You lean back into his chest and rest there. His heartbeat thumps comfortingly and perfectly loudly in your ear, and the sound of his breaths makes you relax just a little bit, and his chest vibrates as he says, “El, is that a legal amount of whipped cream on those?”

You snort and sit up to see her somehow managing three plates with a mountain of whipped cream and strawberries on all three. 

Despite the nausea and aching in your stomach, you feel in need of food. You didn’t eat much of dinner last night.

She hands yours off to you, and you find it hard to not inhale it, so you try to maintain some sort of elegance and use your fork and butter knife. El smiles widely at you, relief evident in her eyes, and she holds up her hand probably for a high-five. Instead though you just lovingly headbutt her hand and she laughs.

There’s even syrup drizzled all over the waffles. You wonder faintly if you’re going to get sick from how sweet they are.

You melt comfortably into Mike’s lap, even closing your eyes for a few moments. Between the waffles and the presence of your two best people, you think maybe you can start to relax, but then the waves of guilt roll in and you can’t help but feel like they feel forced to do this for you. You remain tense against the softness of Mike; you want to slice the bad feelings out of you (you remember the first time you drew blood, sick and dissociated out of your mind, covered in bruises from throwing yourself at the wall and floor) but you don’t think they’d let you out of their sight for too long. 

It’s bad, today. You suppose you could take a shower. The heat might help. You’re certain that you’d turn it up to scalding though. You’d scrub yourself raw, maybe even causing yourself to bleed. You never feel clean enough.

Sometimes you swear your skin is turning a deep murky black, and if you were to run your tongue over your teeth you’d find sharp fangs. When you look at the walls, your ears start ringing, and you feel the overwhelming terror telling you to do one thing: Run.

You clench and unclench your fists, making sure that they haven’t morphed into long black claws, and you click your teeth gently to test that they’re still dull, and you breathe easy knowing you’re delightfully human.

Your eyes end up half-closed, making soft appreciative noises as Mike scritches your head. El massages your knuckles between her fingers. It makes you want to go back to sleep, and you feel like you should, but you don’t think you’d be able to stay asleep. When you open your eyes fully you realize El has her knee and ankle braces on, so you figure she’s having a bad pain day and the guilt feels almost suffocating, but...she brushes your hair from your eyes, and she hums. She stacks the empty paper plates up and sets them on the bedside table.

El blinks and then jolts like she’s forgotten something. You tap her shoulder twice to ask her what’s wrong. She shakes her head and she slowly stumbles to her feet while taking the plates with her. You turn to Mike but he shrugs.

The two of you wait in silence until El pads back in, holding several items in her arms. “We thought this might help,” she says, nodding to Mike.  
Mike nods back and you’re confused.

You hope she understands that you’re asking her what she has with your eyes. She gives you a smile - it’s playful and reassuring, and you trust her, so you just sit and wait, and when she unloads her arms onto your bed you wait until she gives the okay to touch anything. She and Mike share another look, clearly in on something you’re not. You take a moment to do a quick inventory, eyes scanning over all the things she’s brought in, and it doesn’t help to quell your confusion.

You’re pretty sure you see a polished piece of rose quartz, and before you reach out to take it Mike says, “El brought you some of her comfort items, angel face.”

“Today’s a rough day, so,” she says, sitting beside you on the bed once more. You blush, both from Mike’s nickname and El’s thoughtfulness, and you feel the sudden impulse to flap your hands, but even though everyone’s seen you do it before you still feel weird about it. “You can take whatever looks good, I brought it out for you and I want to help you feel better.”

You let yourself flap anyway. Mike and El’s grins brighten, excited by your enthusiasm.

You press your palm twice over your heart, and El nods wordlessly, understanding your signal perfectly, and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. For the time being you feel safe and warm. You decide that this is infinitely better than school, and even more better than the loneliness. You feel the tight lump of tears in your throat. You let out a shaky breath and press yourself back into Mike’s chest and covering your eyes.

El’s hands come up to your cheeks and Mike’s arms come down over your shoulders to rest against your chest.

You’re angry at yourself, unable to explain that you’re just overwhelmed with gratefulness. You want to bite into your wrist again, but you don’t want to make them have to see the most ugly side of you today.

“T-thank you,” you manage. The way your voice sounds hurts, all shaking and rust, but El smiles and waves as if to say “No problem,” and you think that maybe it doesn’t have to be a problem.

“Good job,” Mike murmurs into your ear, tapping over your heart, and you’re blushing again. “You’re doing very well today. I’m proud of you for handling this so well. Just remember, if you feel like something’s too much let us know. I won’t make you say anything, but you know you can tell us.”

You nod and smile weakly, nuzzling against him carefully, and he lets out a soft giggle.

You lean forward to take the rose quartz into your palm, running your thumb over the smooth surface and smiling. You look again at the other items, tilting your head in confusion at the lined paper.

“Sometimes ripping things is good,” El offers, giving you a shrug in response. You consider it for a moment. “It’s helpful. I can be angry and break things, but I don’t have to destroy important things, and I still get my anger out.”

“A win-win, in my mind, don’t you think, Will?” Mike chimes in.

“Yeah,” you rasp out, reaching forward and taking three or four pieces. After looking at it for a few moments, you reach for three more pages and shuffle it so it’s a neat pile.

You feel the prick of hot tears. You hold the pages by the top and hesitate for a moment but you squeeze your eyes shut and before you know it you’re letting out a scream, tearing all of the pages down the middle as aggressively as you can.

“Whoa,” you hear Mike say, and he doesn’t sound scared but in awe.

“I think it’s working, this is progress, I just didn’t expect that.”

You let out a weird-sounding growl noise and reach for more papers, not caring if you get paper cuts on your fingers. You shriek and tear them until you’re red-faced and breathless, sobbing harder than you have in a long time and feeling so _awake._

Mike wraps his arms around you, and you clutch at him like he’s a lifeline.

“Will,” he whispers, and he holds you to his chest tighter, letting you tremble and howl. “Will...hey, don’t cry.”

You’re not even really sure what just happened to you there, and that scares you. You feel way too manic and out of control, like if you don’t calm down something bad is going to happen, and your heart thumps hard against your ribcage. You squeeze your arms around Mike’s middle. He rubs circles into your back, whispering that everything’s okay and you’re safe, while El takes one of your hands and holds it. You feel bad that you’ve made them worry.

“Hey,” Mike murmurs, lifting his hands to your cheeks and holding them there. “Hey, angel face, look at me...that’s it. It’s okay, I’m proud of you for being able to let your feelings out, but you need to try to breathe with me or you’re going to pass out. In and out, in and out, just like me.”

Your breaths come fast and harsh but with Mike’s help they start to even out. When you stop feeling lightheaded and stop seeing black spots you tap his wrist twice. He keeps his hands there, face red and sad-looking, and he pauses before he moves his hands.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” El murmurs, eyes worried and guilty. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to help out, but...I might’ve made things worse, but that’s not what I meant to do.”

You shake your head and squeeze her hand weakly, and she squeeze back carefully. She looks you in the eyes and relaxes, seemingly assured that you’re not angry, and she melts into your side, exhaling softly as she kisses your cheek. You blush and when you look at Mike out of the corner of your eye he’s blushing too. He threads his fingers through yours on your free hand.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Mike stutters. “B-but I should just show you.”

You nod and squeeze his hand, signifying that he can talk. You’re not quite sure what he wants to tell you, and it starts to slowly push butterflies into your stomach. In your emotionally exhausted state, you find it easy to ignore how your skin burns where Mike touches you, how your heart flutters from being so close to him, and the fact that your crush has only gotten worse since you got back.

So you look up to him to let him know he’s got your full attention, eyes soft, hoping you’re not somehow intimidating him into silence. He mostly just looks flustered though, unsure of what he wants to say and how to say it - but you don’t rush him into it.

El gives him a knowing smile and pats his arm in comfort. He takes a deep breath.

Before you know it, he’s leaning in. When you press your hands to his chest his heart is racing. He looks at you in concern when you rest your hands there, worried he’s invading your space, but you smile and nod. He leans in until your noses nearly touch, looking at you through his eyelashes, and your stomach does a flip. He exhales on your face nervously and you both chuckle softly. For a few moments you just look at each other. Then he’s pressing his lips to yours, soft and unsure and trying to find the perfect angle. At first you both don’t quite know what you’re doing, mouths moving together slow and insecure. Once things start to feel more natural you fall into an intense rhythm that sets your skin on fire. 

When he pulls away your breathing is labored, your eyes half-closed and a comfortable heat flowing through your veins. Mike’s blushing down to his shoulders, bringing his freckles out and making them look dark, and your hands are still on his chest, and you almost can’t believe that just happened. You actually wouldn’t if it weren’t for El’s huge smile, and the tingling in your lips from Mike kissing you, and holy shit Mike Wheeler just kissed you. You’re not quite sure how you’re ever going to get over that. You kind of want to kiss him forever. You also keep thinking about how he smells like pine and fire and green apple shampoo, and you have too many things to think about now. 

In your state of shock, you barely notice El leaning in as well. When you turn your head she’s only a few inches away from you. Her beauty is suddenly very in your face and very soft, and you look to Mike for permission because you want this too, but they seem to have talked this out before hand and all you see is his grin.

So you kiss her.

Kissing El is different in that it’s softer, still the same urgency but the rhythm is slow and sweet. 

When you part she grins and you feel dazed. You let yourself fall back on the bed between them, chest bubbling with some unknown emotion, before you giggle.

You’re worried that they’ll get the wrong idea, but they join in before long. “That just happened,” you murmur, cheeks burning, unable to stop smiling, feeling genuinely okay for the first time today. 

Mike pulls the blanket up to your chest, nudging you up so he can put his arm around you, and you press your face into the space between his neck and shoulder, while El moves to rest her head on your chest. Once you’re all snuggled together comfortably, you feel yourself finally relaxing, eyelids heavy as the warmth settles over you.

“Will,” Mike says softly when you’re comfortable. “You’re okay with this?”

You give him a sleepy smile and press a kiss to his neck, sliding an arm over his waist. He lets out a nervous exhale but you sit up for just a moment to look at him. 

“Very okay,” you murmur. “The most okay with it.”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

You roll your eyes fondly and settle your head back where it was and sigh. Warm.

Just as you swear you start drifting off, you get one of the best ideas and press a soft raspberry to Mike’s neck. He squeaks loudly in surprise, and El says, “You walked into that, if I’m being honest. You know Will’s a raspberry fiend.”

You giggle and press another kiss to Mike’s neck in apology, not really feeling sorry at all. He huffs as if offended, but you see him fighting a smile. El tightens her arm over your waist, craning her head up to kiss your jaw.

You feel yourself sinking into a cozy type of sleepiness. You know that just because they love you it doesn’t mean it solves your problems, or that all your pain and suffering goes away, but they have the ability to ease it, the ability to help you learn how to cope with it, and that is...beautiful.

By one, you’re barely hanging onto consciousness, and Mike keeps playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. You’re pretty sure El’s been asleep for awhile, her breathing having gone deep and slow about an hour ago, and she hasn’t moved from her spot that whole time.

You think she’s beautiful, the way that you think Mike is beautiful, and somehow today doesn’t seem so bad when you’re cuddled between the two of them.

You know you’ll have to tell Dustin and Lucas eventually, maybe your mom, or Jonathan who would understand this relationship you have better than anyone...after all, he is dating both Nancy and Steve.

But for right now you don’t want to think about it, instead opting to not think at all. You decide to close your eyes and just focus on how this feels, the soft warm comfort of being safe.

As Mike kisses the top of your head, you smile.

He calls you beautiful sleepily, and you nuzzle against him to show that you both heard and appreciate it, responding softly that he’s always been beautiful to you.

He rests his chin on your head then, the weight a comforting assurance, the beating of his heart lulling you into a half-sleep. Even though you woke up this morning barely able to breathe through your panic and anger and utter terror, it’s taken a turn for the better unlike every other year it’s been an anniversary, and you think it’s beautiful to have something good to look forward to on this day now, especially because of what happened to you.

You let out a satisfied sigh and decide that ultimately this is an okay day. You let yourself melt into sleep.

For once, there are no nightmares.

//

You have a hard time admitting that anything’s wrong; your guilt stops you before you can get the words out. But you’ll get better, someday.

You know what happened to you is never going away. It happened and it can’t un-happen, but that doesn’t mean you have to let it completely destroy you, and it doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.

You have the bad days, but you also have the good.

You’re still figuring out how to cope - admittedly some of your coping mechanisms aren’t really very healthy - but you’re learning, and someday you’ll be able to do it well.

You’re thankful to not be alone, thankful for every single person in your life that loves you. They make it easier to focus on the here and now. Good things like having your fifteenth birthday. Like waking up in the hospital alive and being swarmed by your friends. Like the summer Eleven came back. Like kissing the two people you love most.

You think that as long as they’re still here, you can do anything, and recovery doesn’t seem like such a steep mountain to climb. 

You aren’t alone, and you’re learning.


End file.
